


25. "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye is Playing on the Radio

by Jess_Loves_Things_and_Stuffs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Marvyn Gaye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6030973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_Loves_Things_and_Stuffs/pseuds/Jess_Loves_Things_and_Stuffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Fifty Reasons to Have (Sherlolly) Sex.  #25. "Lets Get it On" by Marvin Gaye is Playing on the Radio.  Or - 4 times "Lets Get it On" was playing, and they didn't, and the one time they did.<br/>Slightly AU.  Spoilers for all three seasons.  Humor,</p>
            </blockquote>





	25. "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye is Playing on the Radio

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Thanks for reading!

  1. The Time Molly Met Sherlock



“Molly, there you are!” Mike Stamford greeted as he walked through the lab doors.  Molly looked up from the microscope, a smile already plastered on her face, and a greeting in return on the edge of her lips, when she spied the man walking in behind him.

The hello she’d been prepared to say died right then and there, and instead a sort of “hhhhuhhh” came out.  She was sure she was as red as an apple by the time Mike and this mystery man reached her at the lab bench.

Mike didn’t quite manage to hold in the snort of laughter at that.  Molly couldn’t take her eyes off of… 

“This is Mr. Holmes.  The man I was telling you about?” Mike started, smiling, and looking now between Molly and this Mr. Holmes.

“Pleasure, I’m sure.  Dr. Hooper I presume?” he asked, reaching out a hand towards her.  This was when Molly managed to finally snap out of the daze this gorgeous, fit, tall, all cheekbones and lips and… 

“Wowza.” she whispered, before clearing her throat, and reaching out her hand in return.  Mr. Holmes gently grasped it, smiling at her.  Molly blinked a few times, trying to pull herself out of her daze.  “Yes.  Yes, Molly, Molly Hooper.  Sorry.  I was just… in my mind a bit there, trying to work out… something…” she said, feeling her face redden again, as she waived her hand in the general direction of the microscope.  God, she felt like an idiot.  She’d never been so flustered over anyone in her entire life.  But then again, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anyone as beautiful as the man standing in front of her.

“You can call me Sherlock.” he said.  They stood there in silence a moment longer before Molly felt a slight tug on her hand and realized she was still holding his outstretched hand in greeting.  Her gaze finally broke from his, and she looked back down at the table, trying to refocus.

“Sherlock.” she repeated, but not daring to look back up at him just yet.

“Sherlock works for NSY.” Mike said.

“With.  I work with them.  On occasion.  When they realize their out of their depth, and pull their heads out of their arse long enough to contact me.” Sherlock said, practically muttering the last part under his breath.

Molly managed to pull herself together enough to feel confident enough to look back up at Sherlock.  She met his eyes again, and smiled, trying to stay composed.  “Sounds lovely.” 

She was stuck looking into his eyes again, lost in the blue-green ocean she saw there.  She wanted to run out of the lab, call her friend Meena, and telling her all about the gorgeous man who’d walked into her lab today, and turned the normally confident Molly Hooper, conqueror of men, into a blubbering mess.

She extended her hand again to him, which he stared at, a bit puzzled, but indulged her anyway.  “It was lovely to meet you, Sherlock, but I’ve got to get back to…”  She looked back at the microscope, trying to remember what exactly it was she had been doing before he walked in. “uhhh…” she stuttered, before looking back at him.

_“I’ve been really tryin’, baby.  Tryin’ to hold back these feelings for so long.  And if you feel, like I feel baby.  Then come on, oh, come on.  Lets get it on.”_

The song played over and over, as Molly and Sherlock stood there.  Mike and Sherlock watched as the blush that had finally just faded, returned tenfold, to the poor Pathologists face.  “Oh god, my phone.  Mike, I’m sorry, I normally put it on silent.  I normally don’t even have it on me!  I swear to God, Meena has the worst timing.” 

Flustered, Molly started to dig around her pockets, and pat her body down, with her left hand, all the while keeping her right tightly clutching Sherlock’s.

“Perhaps your search would go quicker if you released me?” Sherlock finally asked, a poorly hidden smile on his face.

Molly stopped, looking back at their hands, hers still holding his, and just stared.  She was never going to live this down.

 

* * *

 

 

  1. The Time Over the Dead Body



On long nights, when Molly was all alone in the lab, she’d often pull out her iPod, pop her ear buds in, and play her “Groove” playlist louder than she knew she should.  But it helped to pass the time, and that particular playlist kept her focused, kept her mind going, kept her body going.

Over the years, she’d perfected the art of keeping her upper body still while her hips swayed and gyrated.  Her feet gliding around the floor below her.  Every now and then, if the song called for it, or the mood struck her, she’d stop what she was doing, letting her whole body move to the music for a moment.  Sometimes singing along.  After all, there was no one there to hear her.  At least, no one alive. 

She stood over the body she was currently autopsying, scalpel in hand, tray next to her, gently working out the heart of the deceased man lying on her slab.  She’d just completed what she figured was a pretty good estimation of a moon walk, without actually going anywhere, just letting her feet slide along the lino, to Michael Jacksons “Billie Jean”.

As Billie Jean ended, there was a 4-second delay before the next song started.  She’d listened to this playlist so many times over the years, she knew what was next.  It always managed to make her blush just a little, but regardless of the embarrassment she felt at the song, it was still one of her favorites, and she couldn’t bear to remove it from her beloved playlist.

Her hips started to gently sway back and forth as the first lines of the song played.  Pretty soon, her embarrassment was forgotten, and she’d started humming along quietly, slowly losing herself in the song.

Outside the doors to the morgue, three men stood, staring at the mousy woman they’d known as Dr. Molly Hooper. 

Greg Lestrade had worked with her on and off over the years.  She’d always been so quiet and professional.  Incredibly smart.  Bloody fantastic at her job.  He never felt like she got enough credit, and he’d always told himself he should tell her more often, how important she was to him and NSY.  But now watching her, Greg pulled at his collar a bit, and wondered if he didn’t have some things about Molly wrong all this time. 

John Watson always had a smile ready for Molly.  She did so much for the Work, for Sherlock’s work.  Always ready to help, getting coffee for Sherlock when he demanded it.  Bending over backwards for the great git, and probably breaking a few rules in the process.  Just for Sherlock to walk all over the poor thing.  Offer her a smile and a compliment to get what he wanted out of Molly, and then leave her with a scathing remark or something else a bit not good.  John made it a point to always give Molly a genuine smile.  She deserved that much.  But watching her now, John thought, perhaps, she wasn’t quite what she seemed.  He certainly couldn’t help it if what he was seeing now was… doing things to him.

Sherlock Holmes had deduced many a thing about Molly Hooper over the years.  But this… her dancing in the lab, this was not one of them.  He swallowed thickly as he watched her hips sway, her knees bend, bringing her down to a crouch, before she slowly stood back up, hips once again going back and forth, so seductively, slowly, mesmerizing.  She set the scalpel down on the table next to the body, and then stepping back and letting lose.

Sherlock was the first to move, slowly, carefully, quietly, taking first one, and then another, step forward.  He slowly pushed the doors to the morgue open, not even bothering to see if John or Lestrade were following him.  His body took over, knowing that it needed to be closer to Molly Hooper.  He stayed quiet as he watched her, overtaken by her movements.  He’d never guessed she was such a good dancer, and quickly filed the information away in his Mind Palace.

John and Greg, in the meantime, had followed Sherlock in, staying quiet as well, not wanting to startle Molly.  At least, that’s what they told themselves.  The three men stood now just inside the morgue, watching as Molly slid across the floor, appearing to reach a crescendo in the song…

_“Come on baby, let your love come out!  If you believe in love, lets get it on, lets get it on baby.  This minute, oooh! Yeah, lets get it on.  Please, lets get it on.”_

It was at that moment that Molly spun away from the table, away from the body, the dead body, the one she’d been working on removing the heart from, and noticed the three men, stood there, in her morgue, barely contained smiles, chests and shoulders shaking with laughter that was threatening to bubble out of them.

She froze, song forgotten, and pulled her ear buds out.  She was working very hard at not blushing.  She refused.  She would just pretend like nothing had happened, and they could move past this.

“Evening lads.” she said, plastering a smile on her face.  This appeared to be the last straw for men, who promptly doubled over in a fit of giggles.  Molly exhaled, shoulder dropping, and rolled her eyes, turning back to the table, and picking up her scalpel, prepared to continue her task.

 

* * *

 

  1. The Time the Alarm Went Off



It had been months since Molly had helped Sherlock fake his death.  Months since she’d seen him, had any sort of update on him, which was to say, once he’d left Saint Barts, ushered out by some of Mycroft’s men, to who-knows-where, she’d not heard a word, and Mycroft was less than forthcoming with any information regarding Sherlock’s well-being or location.

But now here he was, sat in her kitchen, at her table, eyes closed as she stitched up the gash in his chest.  Nothing to be too concerned about, but deep enough that it did require a few stitches. 

He’d showed up at her door half an hour prior, wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and pull-over hoodie.  He’d simply knocked, and had he not raised his head just enough for her to see him through the peep-hole, she would have called 999 at the sight of the strange man at her door.  Molly swiftly opened her door and flat to him, looking him over, pulling him towards the kitchen where there was better light, instantly instructing him to remove the hoodie when she’d seen him wince upon sitting.  Spying the blood staining the front of his shirt, she walked to her bathroom without a word, to retrieve her first-aid kit.

To say his torso was covered in bruises would be an over-statement, but not by much.  The ones around his rib cage were what was worrying her most at the moment.

“They’re just bruised, not broken.” he said, startling her.  It was the first thing he’d said since arriving.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, stopping her suturing for a moment to look at him.  He was still sat with his eyes closed.

“My ribs, you’re worried about them.  They’re just bruised.  Not broken, not fractured.” he clarified.

“Ah.” was all she said, returning to her task, making the last few stitches before tying it off, and grabbing a swab to clean up around her work.  He winced a bit as the antiseptic was dabbed on his skin, but made no other movement.

She cleaned up her supplies from the table, putting the first-aid kit back in its place, before returning to the kitchen.  She’d just finished plating herself some take-away when he’d knocked.  She pulled down another plate, and dished out some of her would-be leftovers for him.  Sticking his plate in the microwave first.  She glanced back at him, watching as he sat there, eyes still closed, body unmoving safe for the slow, deep breaths he was taking, his hands still resting gently on his lap.  She hadn’t realized how long she had been staring until she heard the ding from the microwave, signaling that his meal was heated.  She pulled his plate out carefully, setting it down before sticking hers in and setting the timer again.  She picked his plate back up, along with the utensils she’d originally taken out for herself, and brought them over to the table, setting it quietly in front of him.

At the sound of the plate being placed in front of him, Sherlock opened his eyes, looking down at the meal in front of him.  It was the first good meal he’d seen in quite some time, and even though he was starving, he didn’t move to eat.  Instead, he looked up at Molly, meeting her eyes, watching her as she watched him.  He was sure she had a plethora of questions for him, but was pleased that at the moment, she chose to stay silent.  He’d answer her questions, of course, as best he could.  She’d helped him so much during the Reichenbach case, she’d saved his life that day.  She mattered the most, even if she didn’t know it yet.  But he was thankful that something in her seemed to realize that at this moment, he just needed quiet.

The microwave dinged again, and their gaze was broken.  Molly turned to retrieve her food, a fork for herself, and then joined Sherlock at the table.  They ate in a comfortable silence, and Molly was glad that she didn’t have to urge him to eat at all, watching as he tucked in to the meal with gusto.  It broke her heart a bit, the speed and quiet enthusiasm in which he ate.  It didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to realize that he’d not eaten properly in quite some time.

Once dinner was finished, Sherlock helped Molly clear the table, and set the dishes in the sink.  “I’ll take care of them tomorrow.” She’d told him when she didn’t start to wash up immediately.  He nodded and turned, heading to her sitting room, quite ready to fall asleep. 

“You don’t have to sleep there.  You can take my bed.  If you want.  Or not.  The mattress isn’t great, but it’s a bit better than the couch.  Unless you’d rather sleep our here.  I can get you a blanket and pillow…”  She was stammering again.  Sherlock walked over to her, silent as he took her hand in his.  He watched her for a moment.  No, he wouldn’t take her bed from her.  He’d never take anything from her again if he could help it.  He could see in her eyes, he’d taken too much.  More than he deserved.

“The couch is fine, Molly.  Thank you.”  He gave her a gentle smile, bringing her hand up to his lips, turning it so her palm was facing up, and placed a gentle kiss there, watching as she closed her eyes and swallowed, taking a deep breath and nodding.  He let her hand go, and she instantly turned away, heading towards her bedroom to gather him some bedding, but she stopped short.

“You know what, you take my bed.”  She had turned and started heading back out towards Sherlock, already seeing him starting to protest.  “No, it’s fine.  If you don’t mind, I’ll take it to.  We care share.  It’s big enough.  There’s no reason we both shouldn’t get a good night’s rest.”  She nodded her head at the end, seeming to quite agree with what she’d just said.  Where she got the courage to invite Sherlock to share her bed with her, she’d never know, but she’d done it.  Sherlock watched her for a moment, and she wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, or wasn’t, he seemed to find his answer, and nodded.

“Lead the way.”

Molly dug through her closet, finding an old over-sized shirt and sweat pants that managed to fit Sherlock enough for him to sleep in.  She had a spare toothbrush she gave to him, still in the package, and showed him to the bathroom to let him get ready for bed.  Once he’d emerged, she’d taken his place, changing into her pajamas, brushing her teeth, taking out her contacts, and pulling her hair out of the simple braid it had been in that day.  She looked at her glasses, putting them on, and then quickly taking them off.  There was no way she was letting Sherlock see her in her glasses.  Taking a deep breath, she exited the bathroom, switched off the lights in her flat, and made her way to her bedroom.

Sherlock had settled himself on the left side of the bed, closest to the window.  He had pulled the covers back, but was sitting above them, waiting for her.  She smiled as she walked to her side of the bed, just barely managing to plugging her phone in to charge for the evening, considering she could hardly see it without her contacts or glasses.  She picked up her alarm clock, holding it close to her face, but not so horribly close that she looked ridiculous, while she set it for the next morning.

“I’ve got to be up at 5am for work.  You’re welcome to stay if you’d like.  For however long you need.” She said as she set the alarm clock down and climbed in to her side of the bed.  She pulled the covers up to her chest, and settled her head on her pillow.  Sherlock was still sat up, leaning against her headboard, but took his queue, and followed suit, soon settled on his back next to her.  “I hope you do stay, at least for a few days.  You look like you could use a few good meals.  And I’d like to make sure that cut doesn’t get infected.”  She was trying to think of reasons for him to stay.

Sherlock just stared at the ceiling and nodded.  Molly waited another moment, to see if he’d respond at all, other than the nod, but after a while, it appeared she wouldn’t get anything out of him.  “Goodnight Sherlock.”

“Goodnight Molly.”

She flipped out the bedside lamp, and turned to her side, facing away from Sherlock, and closed her eyes.  She felt the bed dip a bit as Sherlock shifted and settled again.  Molly sighed, and willed herself to fall asleep.

_“Come on, come on, come on, come on darling.  Stop beatin’ round the bush, hey.  Oh, gonna get it on, treatin’ you, baby”_

Molly hadn’t been asleep long when the song started blaring.  She’d been so disoriented, being woken up so rudely, she nearly fell out of her bed in the process.  She slammed her hand around the general direction of her alarm clock, attempting to turn it off, when she realized what was playing.

“Oh for the love of GOD!” she groaned.  She finally managed to find the stop button, silencing that blasted song, and flopping onto her back.  She felt the bed shaking, and looked over to Sherlock.  He was curled up in a fetal position, facing her, and laughing so hard he wasn’t making any sound at all.  “This isn’t funny, Sherlock.” she half-heartedly scolded, now fighting back her own giggles, as she watched Sherlock gasp for breath, wincing a bit, but not seeming to really care if the laughing was hurting him.   She looked at the time on her clock, seeing that it was now 9:02pm.  Well, she figures, that’s what she gets for not wearing her glasses.  “I hate that song….”

 

* * *

 

  1. The Time At John and Mary’s Wedding



Sherlock leaned back against the wall, watching Molly on the dance floor, arms around the, frankly, awful copy of himself.  Her fiancé, Sherlock reminded himself. 

She’s to be married.  She’s not yours.  You missed your chance.

She looked so lovely, in her yellow dress, and that great big ridiculous bow on her head that was actually rather endearing, and so very, very Molly.  He looked around the room again, fighting to take his eyes of Molly Hooper.  He spotted John and Mary, arms also wrapped around each other, foreheads together, speaking softly to each other.  He’d be sick, if he wasn’t so angry at himself for being so damn jealous of the whole thing.  For the first time in his life, Sherlock was wishing that he was in that position.  Arms around his Pathologist.  His Molly.  Foreheads together, whispering things to each other.

Probably about an interesting autopsy.

He’d been so lost in thought over it, he’d failed to notice someone coming up to him.

“Would you like to dance?”  Molly asked, lightly tapping his shoulder.  Sherlock straightened up, clearing his throat, and nodding, offering Molly his hand.  She took it, and he led them to the dance floor.

He kept her hand in his, and put his other hand on her waist, while she placed her free hand on his shoulder.  They instantly started into a slow sway, back and forth.

“It’s a song by the Lumineers.” She said, drawing his attention again.

“Sorry?”

“The Lumineers.  That’s who’s singing.  You looked like you couldn’t place the song.” She said, and he nodded.  He hadn’t really cared, but if that’s what she thought he was thinking about, he wouldn’t correct her.  Now was not the time or place.  “You looked like you were ready to bolt.”

Hi directed his gaze back at her, offering her a small smile.  “Weddings… aren’t really my thing.”

“Oh.  Okay, good to know.” She said, smiling just a little back at him.  “Well, you’re still coming to mine, but don’t worry, I won’t mind if you don’t stick around.  Now that I know.”

It felt like a punch right to the chest, but he held his composure.  After a while, and a change in song, a little more up-beat (although he still continued to sway slowly with her), Sherlock decided to speak again.  “You’re sure about… Tom?”

Molly looked up at him then, her eyes meeting his, and just as she was about to reply, the song changed, and caught both their attention.

_“I’ve been really tryin’, baby.  Tryin’ to hold back these feelings for so long.”_

He could feel Molly start to pull away, but he gripped her hand and waist just a little harder, pulling her to him every just a little more.  “Molly, wait…” he started, when he was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in, mate?”  Both Sherlock and Molly turned to see Tom standing there.  Molly started to pull away again, but Sherlock held fast.  “Sort of our song playing, you know?”

Sherlock remembered himself, and released Molly’s waist, bringing the hand he was holding over to Tom, offering it to him.  “Of course.” He said, then turned to Molly.  “Thank you for a lovely dance, Molly.  Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Cheers.” Tom said, and with that,  took Molly by the waist, pulling her close to him, while Molly watched Sherlock leaving the dance floor.

 

* * *

 

  1. The Time They Got It On



“Mary, why exactly do I have to be blindfolded?!” Molly exclaimed.  She was very, very carefully making her way up a set of stairs at the moment.  Trying as hard as she could not to trip.  Even though Mary was next to her, telling her when to step, holding on to her hand as well as having a hand to steady her back, Molly still felt a bit dodgy about the situation. 

“Because it’s a surprise.  And if you see where we’re headed, that ruins it.  Now shush, and step.” Mary giggled.  She’d shown up at Molly’s flat that afternoon as planned.  They’d planned a girls day out, now that the whole Fake Moriarty business had been dealt with, and she’d had her baby.  Little Anne was nearly three months, and Mary had been begging Molly to get her out of the house for a girls day.  Although, once Mary had shown up, that wasn’t exactly how things had gone down.

“I don’t even understand why I’m the one getting a surprise.  This is supposed to be _your_ day.  Your big Girls Day Out, away from John and Anne.  That you’ve been begging me for, _for weeks_!”

“Right, lied.  You’ll get over it.  Trust me.” Mary said, helping Molly up the last step.  They took a couple more steps, and then Mary let go of Molly, and she could hear a door opening, followed by Mary telling her “Don’t take the blindfold off until instructed.  You’ll be fine, trust me.”  Followed by her calling out “She’s all yours lover boy!”

_Loverboy?!_ “Mary, what in God’s name…”  Molly started, but trailed off when she heard a few footsteps, and then music...

_“I’ve been really tryin’, baby.  Tryin’ to hold back these feelings for so long.  And if you feel, like I feel baby.  Then come on, oh, come on.  Lets get it on.”_

Molly’s hands flew up to her mouth, her eyes instantly watering.  A half laugh, half cry, escaped her mouth as she felt someone (and she had a good idea of exactly who it was) cup her face, and place a gentle, chaste kiss, on her lips.

Sherlock’s hands moved around to untie the blindfold, and as it dropped, another sob escaped Molly.  Every flat surface of Baker Street was covered in candles of all sizes, the ground in front of her, as well as the rest of the floor, was covered in rose petals.

“Sherlock, what…  what is all this?” she managed, finally looking up into the Consulting Detectives eyes.  He led her further into the flat, into the center of the living room, not saying a word just yet, but taking her into his arms, and gently swaying with her.  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, still watching him, waiting, for some sort of explanation, although, she had a pretty good idea what was coming.

Once they had a slow rhythm going, Sherlock dipped his head down, nuzzling his face at her neck.  “This is how I show you how I feel about you.” he whispered.  “This…  this is something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.  Longer than I think you even realize.”  She wove her fingers through his hair at that, squeezing just a little.  “You see me, Molly.  You always see me.  But you didn’t see this.  No matter how hard I tried.”  He pulled back and looked into her eyes.  “It was time to take drastic measures.” He smiled.

She snorted a bit at that.  “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”  Sherlock smiled, and dipped his head for another kiss, but not quite as chaste as the one they’d shared at the door when she’d entered.

“Molly?” he asked, as they broke apart, beginning to sway again.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been really tryin’, baby.” He sang, and she giggled, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck.  “Tryin’ to hold back these feelings for so long.”  He lifted her up, turning towards the bedroom, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.  “And if you feel, like I feel baby.”  He gyrated his hips then, pulling another laugh from Molly, as he continued down the hallway.  “Then come on, oh, come on.  Lets get it on.”


End file.
